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Story One of the Little College of Horrors series.
As a few may have noticed in my past tale of the domiciliary imbeciles, I mentioned in passing that I was ostracized by my college. “Pray tell, what transpired?!” has been the plea by many.
...yes, that was a nice way of putting it that I've been told “TELL US NOW.”
And since this is also a particularly long tale, I'm just going to break it up into standalone stories so nobody freaks out for the next part this time around. Wolfie can thank me later.
Mr. Tipsy
This all takes place about six years ago, when I was still quite young and naïve, and not yet jaded to the world. During the same timeframe as when I was at the Domicile of Despair, to be more precise. And yet vague. Aren't you a lucky reader?
As mentioned previously, this was my first year out on my own, and I was determined to make my way, be successful, and generally have the time of my life in my own strange way. I worked hard at being able to bounce up early in the morning and to be ready for classes, and to stay wide awake.
I quickly became infamous for my morning “chirpiness”. Yes, I was That Person.
The first mistake I made was taking on an 8 am class in business law with a teacher I'd heard good things about, Mr. Tipsy. Yes, I realize the name is a bit of a spoiler of things to come. Bear with me.
Every morning, I'd walk in and greet my teacher with a bright and cheery “Good morning, Mr. Tipsy!” and sit down amid the laughter of everyone else as Mr. Tipsy responded with a general “shut up” or on worse days “f*** off....” It was a tradition practically after the first couple of weeks.
The first day I forgot to do it after being sick and tired, one of the guys sitting behind me poked me in the back and said “Hey! You forgot to greet him!” So I obliged, and Mr. Tipsy gave the guy a glare that would've put him twelve feet under, if looks could kill.
I actually was under the delusion that somehow, Mr. Tipsy actually appreciated the cheeriness under a gruff exterior. I couldn't have been more wrong.
The first sign of this came when I arrived a bit early, and while walking through the front room of the business building, I noticed Mr. Tipsy off to the side with one of the bosomier classmates of mine. She fidgeted and giggled in his arms while he planted several sloppy kisses on her. I admit I stopped short, and my jaw dropped open. Mr. Tipsy noticed me straight off, shoved her away, and said “What, you have a problem? GET TO CLASS.”
I scurried away immediately, and just buried myself into studying my text right off, and ignored him when he eventually came in and leaned back at his desk. I continued to study, even as everyone filed in, and brushed off the inevitable “Did you say morning to him yet?”
Mr. Tipsy dropped a pop quiz on the class almost immediately, and thankfully, I was ready for it, with all the studying I'd just done. I knew all of the answers, and was the first to turn it in.
However, I still nearly failed it.
Mr. Tipsy deducted points for even the most trivial of items in my statements, and tore apart my answers using some law theories that we hadn't even covered yet. I was crushed, but wanting to avoid a confrontation, decided I'd just study harder and get good grades on everything else.
I did very well for the next couple of months, toning down the cheeriness and avoiding Mr. Tipsy like the plague. I ran into the girl from the first incident a couple weeks later in the bathroom, sitting in a corner with a friend comforting her, mascara smudged all down her cheeks. She dropped out of the class that week, and I never saw her again. Mr. Tipsy was not nearly as devastated though, and started showing up with a new girl every week or two.
It was around that time when everything went to heck for that particular class.
I was sitting in the lobby, reading my textbook in between classes, when I spilled my drink on myself. I scrambled to find a napkin, towel, anything absorbent, but the only thing remotely close was a dude sleeping in the other chair. I dropped my book onto the table, and ran into the bathroom around the corner, and grabbed several paper towels. I dabbed myself off, and ran back outside to mop up the spill. As I approached the table, I looked off to the side.
My textbook was gone.
I had been gone for maybe a minute, and someone had stolen my book for Mr. Tipsy's class. And I had a test tomorrow.
Oh my word.
Sleeping Guy was still in the same position, and still snoring, so it wasn't him. I ran to the doorway, and ran around, asking if anyone had seen who was in there, if anyone picked it up, etc etc. Nobody saw or heard anything.
If I thought I was crushed earlier by the pop quiz near failure, I had no idea about now. A replacement book would've been $300. Money I did not have, quite frankly. I had a test coming up that I needed to study for.
Surprisingly, Mr. Tipsy strolled on by at this point, and asked what was going on. I explained briefly, even telling him how I didn't have the money to get a new one, so I didn't know what I was going to do. He actually SMILED at this, and told me I'd best be prepared, because having a book was required for his class.
Wait, what?
I stared at him openmouthed as he grinned and said “See you in the moooorning!” and jauntily walked away.
That evening, I called up some friends of mine in the class, who agreed to help me out as much as possible, and to share their books with me so I could keep up with the class. I figured I'd just take copious notes to compensate for the lost book.
The next day, I went down to the used textbook store, just to look over prices, in the faint hopes that a cheap one would have surfaced.
Instead, I found my book.
I brought it up to the counter, and showed them the book, explaining what had happened to me yesterday. I even pointed out the lightly penciled initials of my name on the inside cover, and offered to find the people I'd spoken to yesterday as proof of the incident.
No dice.
They refused to return my book to me, and as the clerk put it “We paid for this book, it's not leaving here without being paid for again.”
Frakking fricka fricka frick.
I was ticked off, and stormed into class for the test, where Mr. Tipsy informed everyone that he'd decided to make the test open book!
Ohhhh, you devious son of a biscuit.
I did my darndest on that test. Without a book, it was tough, but I knew my material, and only a couple of the questions had me the slightest bit confused.
Still, I got a B- on the test. I remember that clearly, he was rather peeved that I still did well.
The rest of the semester flew by after that. I threw myself into studying for the class as much as I could, and as often as I could, since I didn't have the textbook, and had to rely on my own memorization for tests and the like. Mr. Tipsy didn't like this, but there wasn't much he could do. I managed to pull A's on almost all the tests, with only a couple of middling Bs. As an extra precaution, I made sure to never miss a class. I figured I was good to go, and on the last day of classes, I pulled out all the stops as a bit of revenge.
I probably shouldn't have, in retrospect.
I walked in and promptly gave my cheeriest “GOOOOOOOD MORNING~” and sat down. Mr. Tipsy was slumped over his desk, groaning, but apparently had enough energy to flip me off.
Well, that's new.
Mr. Tipsy stayed flopped over on his desk until everyone filed in. After a little while, he lifted his head up and dismissed the class, stating “I'm sure everyone feels the same way after that party last night, so just go home.” With that, he got up and started slowly gathering his things. I popped right on up, and said in a bit overloud and full-cheer-to-the-max-dear-heavens-its-almost-diabetic voice “Well, thank you for everything Mr. Tipsy, and you have a very good day!”
Bad, bad, bad idea.
I didn't think twice about this, until my grades came in, along with a letter that I was going to be losing my scholarship because of my grades.
Turns out, Mr. Tipsy failed me. I thought this rather odd, especially giving that my grades were good, and I never failed a single test or quiz!
I actually did something smart, and instead of going to him about it, I went straight over his head, and went to the Dean of Business. I explained to her what was going on, how I felt about it, and how I'd never failed anything, nor missed a class. She called up Mr. Tipsy on the phone in front of me, and asked him why I was failed, giving that my class grades were high.
“Well, I uh....weigh class participation a lot when it comes to grades....she was very nonparticipative.”
Uh, huh. I spoke up right then, and offered to get classmates to back me up that I was MORE than “participative” in classes.
Things went back and forth between Mr. Tipsy, the dean, and I after that, with him trying to raise up fake reasons why I should fail. In the end though, he backed down, and raised my grade to enough of a passing, that I would be able to keep my scholarship. I was still quite angry that I didn't get the grade I deserved, but I decided that this was not a battle I wanted to fight right now.
Thanking the dean, I started to leave, but turned and with a very quizzical expression, asked if teachers were allowed to date students from their classes. She looked very shocked and asked why I wanted to know, and I said, “Well, its just that <Girl From First Incident> and...well....eh, nevermind.”
Yes, I totally grinned as I walked out, and I heard her picking up her phone immediately and dialing. I swear, her fingers were like pistons on that poor phone. I lingered out of sight by her doorway, pretending to be browsing the flyers on a bulletin board, until I heard her start a very heated discussion with what was obviously, Mr. Tipsy.
I have no idea what happened to Mr. Tipsy after that. I know he taught for one more semester, and then left the college. We never spoke again, except for one time I saw him in a store while I was out with a friend, and I greeted him with the cheery “Good MORNING, Mr. Tipsy!” He immediately turned his cart around and left the aisle. That was the last I ever saw of him.
And honestly? Good riddance.
As a few may have noticed in my past tale of the domiciliary imbeciles, I mentioned in passing that I was ostracized by my college. “Pray tell, what transpired?!” has been the plea by many.
...yes, that was a nice way of putting it that I've been told “TELL US NOW.”
And since this is also a particularly long tale, I'm just going to break it up into standalone stories so nobody freaks out for the next part this time around. Wolfie can thank me later.
Mr. Tipsy
This all takes place about six years ago, when I was still quite young and naïve, and not yet jaded to the world. During the same timeframe as when I was at the Domicile of Despair, to be more precise. And yet vague. Aren't you a lucky reader?
As mentioned previously, this was my first year out on my own, and I was determined to make my way, be successful, and generally have the time of my life in my own strange way. I worked hard at being able to bounce up early in the morning and to be ready for classes, and to stay wide awake.
I quickly became infamous for my morning “chirpiness”. Yes, I was That Person.
The first mistake I made was taking on an 8 am class in business law with a teacher I'd heard good things about, Mr. Tipsy. Yes, I realize the name is a bit of a spoiler of things to come. Bear with me.
Every morning, I'd walk in and greet my teacher with a bright and cheery “Good morning, Mr. Tipsy!” and sit down amid the laughter of everyone else as Mr. Tipsy responded with a general “shut up” or on worse days “f*** off....” It was a tradition practically after the first couple of weeks.
The first day I forgot to do it after being sick and tired, one of the guys sitting behind me poked me in the back and said “Hey! You forgot to greet him!” So I obliged, and Mr. Tipsy gave the guy a glare that would've put him twelve feet under, if looks could kill.
I actually was under the delusion that somehow, Mr. Tipsy actually appreciated the cheeriness under a gruff exterior. I couldn't have been more wrong.
The first sign of this came when I arrived a bit early, and while walking through the front room of the business building, I noticed Mr. Tipsy off to the side with one of the bosomier classmates of mine. She fidgeted and giggled in his arms while he planted several sloppy kisses on her. I admit I stopped short, and my jaw dropped open. Mr. Tipsy noticed me straight off, shoved her away, and said “What, you have a problem? GET TO CLASS.”
I scurried away immediately, and just buried myself into studying my text right off, and ignored him when he eventually came in and leaned back at his desk. I continued to study, even as everyone filed in, and brushed off the inevitable “Did you say morning to him yet?”
Mr. Tipsy dropped a pop quiz on the class almost immediately, and thankfully, I was ready for it, with all the studying I'd just done. I knew all of the answers, and was the first to turn it in.
However, I still nearly failed it.
Mr. Tipsy deducted points for even the most trivial of items in my statements, and tore apart my answers using some law theories that we hadn't even covered yet. I was crushed, but wanting to avoid a confrontation, decided I'd just study harder and get good grades on everything else.
I did very well for the next couple of months, toning down the cheeriness and avoiding Mr. Tipsy like the plague. I ran into the girl from the first incident a couple weeks later in the bathroom, sitting in a corner with a friend comforting her, mascara smudged all down her cheeks. She dropped out of the class that week, and I never saw her again. Mr. Tipsy was not nearly as devastated though, and started showing up with a new girl every week or two.
It was around that time when everything went to heck for that particular class.
I was sitting in the lobby, reading my textbook in between classes, when I spilled my drink on myself. I scrambled to find a napkin, towel, anything absorbent, but the only thing remotely close was a dude sleeping in the other chair. I dropped my book onto the table, and ran into the bathroom around the corner, and grabbed several paper towels. I dabbed myself off, and ran back outside to mop up the spill. As I approached the table, I looked off to the side.
My textbook was gone.
I had been gone for maybe a minute, and someone had stolen my book for Mr. Tipsy's class. And I had a test tomorrow.
Oh my word.
Sleeping Guy was still in the same position, and still snoring, so it wasn't him. I ran to the doorway, and ran around, asking if anyone had seen who was in there, if anyone picked it up, etc etc. Nobody saw or heard anything.
If I thought I was crushed earlier by the pop quiz near failure, I had no idea about now. A replacement book would've been $300. Money I did not have, quite frankly. I had a test coming up that I needed to study for.
Surprisingly, Mr. Tipsy strolled on by at this point, and asked what was going on. I explained briefly, even telling him how I didn't have the money to get a new one, so I didn't know what I was going to do. He actually SMILED at this, and told me I'd best be prepared, because having a book was required for his class.
Wait, what?
I stared at him openmouthed as he grinned and said “See you in the moooorning!” and jauntily walked away.
That evening, I called up some friends of mine in the class, who agreed to help me out as much as possible, and to share their books with me so I could keep up with the class. I figured I'd just take copious notes to compensate for the lost book.
The next day, I went down to the used textbook store, just to look over prices, in the faint hopes that a cheap one would have surfaced.
Instead, I found my book.
I brought it up to the counter, and showed them the book, explaining what had happened to me yesterday. I even pointed out the lightly penciled initials of my name on the inside cover, and offered to find the people I'd spoken to yesterday as proof of the incident.
No dice.
They refused to return my book to me, and as the clerk put it “We paid for this book, it's not leaving here without being paid for again.”
Frakking fricka fricka frick.
I was ticked off, and stormed into class for the test, where Mr. Tipsy informed everyone that he'd decided to make the test open book!
Ohhhh, you devious son of a biscuit.
I did my darndest on that test. Without a book, it was tough, but I knew my material, and only a couple of the questions had me the slightest bit confused.
Still, I got a B- on the test. I remember that clearly, he was rather peeved that I still did well.
The rest of the semester flew by after that. I threw myself into studying for the class as much as I could, and as often as I could, since I didn't have the textbook, and had to rely on my own memorization for tests and the like. Mr. Tipsy didn't like this, but there wasn't much he could do. I managed to pull A's on almost all the tests, with only a couple of middling Bs. As an extra precaution, I made sure to never miss a class. I figured I was good to go, and on the last day of classes, I pulled out all the stops as a bit of revenge.
I probably shouldn't have, in retrospect.
I walked in and promptly gave my cheeriest “GOOOOOOOD MORNING~” and sat down. Mr. Tipsy was slumped over his desk, groaning, but apparently had enough energy to flip me off.
Well, that's new.
Mr. Tipsy stayed flopped over on his desk until everyone filed in. After a little while, he lifted his head up and dismissed the class, stating “I'm sure everyone feels the same way after that party last night, so just go home.” With that, he got up and started slowly gathering his things. I popped right on up, and said in a bit overloud and full-cheer-to-the-max-dear-heavens-its-almost-diabetic voice “Well, thank you for everything Mr. Tipsy, and you have a very good day!”
Bad, bad, bad idea.
I didn't think twice about this, until my grades came in, along with a letter that I was going to be losing my scholarship because of my grades.
Turns out, Mr. Tipsy failed me. I thought this rather odd, especially giving that my grades were good, and I never failed a single test or quiz!
I actually did something smart, and instead of going to him about it, I went straight over his head, and went to the Dean of Business. I explained to her what was going on, how I felt about it, and how I'd never failed anything, nor missed a class. She called up Mr. Tipsy on the phone in front of me, and asked him why I was failed, giving that my class grades were high.
“Well, I uh....weigh class participation a lot when it comes to grades....she was very nonparticipative.”
Uh, huh. I spoke up right then, and offered to get classmates to back me up that I was MORE than “participative” in classes.
Things went back and forth between Mr. Tipsy, the dean, and I after that, with him trying to raise up fake reasons why I should fail. In the end though, he backed down, and raised my grade to enough of a passing, that I would be able to keep my scholarship. I was still quite angry that I didn't get the grade I deserved, but I decided that this was not a battle I wanted to fight right now.
Thanking the dean, I started to leave, but turned and with a very quizzical expression, asked if teachers were allowed to date students from their classes. She looked very shocked and asked why I wanted to know, and I said, “Well, its just that <Girl From First Incident> and...well....eh, nevermind.”
Yes, I totally grinned as I walked out, and I heard her picking up her phone immediately and dialing. I swear, her fingers were like pistons on that poor phone. I lingered out of sight by her doorway, pretending to be browsing the flyers on a bulletin board, until I heard her start a very heated discussion with what was obviously, Mr. Tipsy.
I have no idea what happened to Mr. Tipsy after that. I know he taught for one more semester, and then left the college. We never spoke again, except for one time I saw him in a store while I was out with a friend, and I greeted him with the cheery “Good MORNING, Mr. Tipsy!” He immediately turned his cart around and left the aisle. That was the last I ever saw of him.
And honestly? Good riddance.
I'm glad you prevailed; and as hopeful as I am for more stories (hinthint) it's awful that you've been thru so much. At least you've clearly become stronger for it! 
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